


take me away from this big bad world

by sohappily (somuchitshurting)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Barista Louis, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchitshurting/pseuds/sohappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It was tender and delicate, like a cold winter’s day spent in front of the fireplace wrapped in a fresh, clean blanket, with a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and a loved one’s waist in the other. But it was also packed with passion, a fiery tango laden with desire and affection. They stopped time together, and for a moment, they reached an ethereal communion of love long overdue</i>.</p>
<p>Harry loves the taste of caramel lattes, and Louis loves the taste of his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me away from this big bad world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [2k11leeds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2k11leeds/gifts).



> Title from Blur’s "Coffee and TV."

  __

_Endless faces filtering in and out,_

_each one unrecognizable._

_I wonder what they are – their stories._

_The stoic man who ordered his coffee black_

_with no cream_

_what horrors had he seen_

_to accept reality as it is._

_The blonde with red lips and a “vanilla latte, please”_

_who needs every ounce of pure sugar she can get_

_until she convinces herself that she can look in the mirror_

_and love herself for who she is not._

_Me?_

_I take my dark coffee with a dab of white milk_

_and a dash of sweet caramel._

\--

Since he was eighteen, Louis Tomlinson had been toiling away behind the counter of Corrine’s Café serving various teas, coffees, and pastries to customers with fat wallets and fatter mouths.

“God, did you see the way Stephanie was dressed the other day? A complete atrocity.”

“Just wait until you here who she’s sleeping with – _then_ you’ll understand.”

“London used to be a wonderful place. Now I hardly even remember my own street.”

The gossip, the rumors Louis heard were enough to make anyone sick. How he ended up in such a haughty, snobbish predicament was beyond him. He hated listening to the complete arrogance of bigots who pretended they had the answer to everything and looked down upon the “dregs of humanity that haven’t got a single clue on the high-societal culture of England’s finest, those rats.” The close-minded atmosphere of his customers was astounding.

There were the regulars, who thoroughly expected Louis to already know their order, and the first-timers, who insisted on going through the menu and asking him intensive questions on every single item. There were the “just-browsing” crowd and their complete lack of sympathy for the people standing behind them before simply walking off without purchasing anything, and the American tourists who were surprised that they could even find a place that sold coffee.

They were disgusting faces, every single one of them, and Louis could not care less about them. After a long day of work, the customers became amalgamated in a muddled mess of various skin tones and accents, and he found himself counting the minutes until he was free. He couldn’t really complain about his job – his single mother worked hard each day to provide for himself and his step sisters, so he tried his best to pitch in and help out. Every bit of money went to support his family, and he was happy to donate. His sisters meant the world to him, and his mother was the wisest and kindest woman he had ever met.

But some days, work was hell, and on those days, Louis wrote.

He definitely wasn’t any kind of profession writer, no doubt there, but he found himself needing a creative outlet in order to profess his deep, burning hatred for his current situation. Happiness was not a good friend of his; for most of his life, Louis had gotten the short end of the stick. When he was younger, he often went to bed hungry because of his mother’s low income, and they were constantly scrounging around for money. At school, he thought he could confide to his friends about his rather fervent passion for members of the same sex, but soon his peers bullied him endlessly with sickening names and low blows to the stomach. Louis also had a bad case of feeling very unimportant a lot of the time. He would constantly try to be funny and goof up in order to get someone’s attention, but it was mainly scolding he received in the end. He blamed his birthday. If you ever want to completely destroy a person’s self-esteem from day one, have them born on or around a major holiday.

Louis had a lot of sad feelings, so he wrote a lot of sad poetry. In the moments where there was a lull in the amount of customers, he would take out a spare napkin and jot down some inquisitive words. He tried imagining himself up there with the likes of Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson until he read his own piece of crap, but nonetheless, he was not discouraged. Writing gave him something to do, an escape from the harsh facts of life. Within his poetry, he could be as sad as he liked, as curious as he wanted to be, as sarcastic and witty as he could manage. Many of his works ended up in a crumpled heap, but some of his particularly fantastic ones he took home in his bag and hung up on with a string and clothespin in his room.

One of his sisters walked in on him once while he was getting rather adventurous below his waist and was more concerned with the massive amounts of napkins on his wall. She hasn’t been back to his room since. 

Right now, Louis was setting up a chalkboard sign outside the café stating their new white chocolate and peppermint mocha special for the week. It was two weeks before Christmas, and in Louis’ opinion, it was fucking cold. He was bundled up in a padded black coat and gigantic scarf wrapped up to his ears, and thin little boots that went _crunch crunch crunch_ in the snow. There had been a solid layer of snow since the beginning of December, and he was getting really tired of seeing a blinding sheet of white every time he walked out of the dimly lit café. Plus his shift was always late in the evening, so by the time he had to head for home, London was a freezing mess.

The decrease in temperature lead to an increase in customers and was doubled by the holiday season, which left Louis with little time to write, and made him quite angry. Right as he whipped out a pen to jot down some words of wisdom, a middle-aged man showed up demanding his Earl Grey.

A quick question: which cuts glass better? Louis’ cheekbones or his current facial expression?

After a long day, the amount of customers trickled down to a halt, and Louis could finally breathe. He wrote a quick poem down on a napkin, something about what kind of coffee people ordered determined who they were in life, and started untying his apron. It was late in the evening, and the rest of the workers had already gone home. Closing time was in five minutes, but there would be no one else to show up.

That’s when he heard a faint _tingle_ of the café door. All of Louis’ hopes and dreams came crashing down as he saw someone else come in, who would most likely eat indoors and prevent Louis from locking up and going home. Louis stood behind the counter with a fake smile plastered on his face and glanced back and forth between the clock on the wall and the incoming customer.

He was wrapped in a thick brown jacket and dark skinny jeans paired with long black boots and a cozy scarf around his neck. He had a placid expression and dark green eyes and a mess of curly chocolate hair. The customer stopped in front of a display of muffins and scones, and Louis breathed in the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla. He was focusing in on the pastries and biting down a bit on his full, red lips, and Louis had to turn away for a second to tell himself _stop, stop, what are you doing, this is a customer, a very attractive one, but he is only here to buy things, stop analyzing him._ Louis took a deep breath, recomposed himself, and let it back out.

_CRASH!_

The glass dish of pastries had fallen to the ground in a broken mess of pointy shards, and the muffins and scones were thrown every which way. The customer seemed frozen in a temporary state of disbelief as his right hand was still suspended in midair, obviously pointing to his involvement in the great fall of the pastries. The only body part of his that moved were his eyes, which darted over to Louis and made contact for a split second before looking back at where the dish one stood. He lowered his hand and then said to Louis, “Oops.”

He sighed. “Hi, may I help you?” He walked over to the customer and placed crossed hands on the counter.

“I-I may have accidentally knocked over this here muffin display,” the young man mumbled, gesturing to the broken spikes around him.

“Ah, that old thing? Bound to break anytime soon. Not your fault, the gravity here is just stronger than in other places.” Louis cleared his throat. “What can I get for you?”

The customer let out a low, drawn out “uh” before looking up at the menu, and Louis noticed how the lights seemed to sparkle in his eyes. _Nope, nope, nope._ He was rather pretty, though. “Can I just have a caramel latte, please? Only a small one.”

“Take-away?”

“No thanks, I’ll have it here.”

Louis’ mind ached at the idea of staying past closing time, but a policy at Corrine’s Café was to always serve the customer to the best of your ability. Not that Louis always did this, mind you, but he could make exceptions. He wasn’t the greatest barista, but he made the latte as delicious as he could and even tried to make a pattern in the cream. It looked like a lumpy oval, but he was proud. He placed a napkin and spoon on the side of the cup and saucer and gracefully brought it around to the customer’s table.

“Here you are!” he said in a cheery tone. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you, er, Lewis,” the young man said, craning his neck to take a gander at Louis’ nametag.

“Actually, uh, it’s pronounced Louis,” he said, feeling a bit flustered.

“Oh! Thank you, Louis, then.”

Louis gave a strange small bow to the customer and skidded back behind the counter, feeling a bit sheepish about their interaction. His face felt like it was on fire. He pretended to wash up the counter with a spare rag as he focused in on the customer.

He seemed to be wistfully looking outside and staring off into the distance, probably thinking profound thoughts, Louis concluded. Each time he raised his cup he lifted a pinkie and took a small sip before setting it back down ever so gently. He dabbed his lips so lightly with the napkin and at that point, Louis had to turn away because he was feeling incredibly ashamed for his creepy actions. He made himself go be busy in the back with some sweeping up.

When finally he heard the _tingle_ of the café door again, Louis went back to the main area to clean up. To his surprise, the customer left little of a mess with his cup, but Louis noticed something attached to the chair. A silky, green scarf with patterns of white daisies and vines.

Grabbing it, he ran outside the café yelling, “Wait, sir, you’ve left your scarf!” but his voice was lost in the cold, brisk wind. It was too dark to tell if the man was still there, and too slippery to go chasing after anyone. Suddenly, a mischievous Louis broke out into a Grinch-like smile. The young man would surely have to return to the café if he left his scarf, right? Returning back inside, Louis tucked the scarf away into his bag in case his coworkers got any bright ideas about donating it without his discretion, and he turned off the lights and locked the door before heading off into the bitter December night.

The next day, Louis stood eagerly waiting for the door to open and a tall man with curly locks to stride in. He clutched the scarf almost religiously to his side, and a coworker of his gave him a strange look. “Never took you for a lily man, Louis,” he chuckled.

“Oh, shove off, Zayn,” Louis muttered, shrugging a shoulder at him. “I’m merely keeping watch until its owner returns.”

“Yeah? Let me take a peek at that, mate.” Before Louis could protest, Zayn had snatched away the cloth and took a quick whiff of it. “Mmm. Nice. Cinnamon.”

Louis grabbed it back with a swift hand and retorted, “Don’t be so grabby!” but to his dismay, was met with a wide smirk.

“Of course, Louis.” But he found it hard to stay upset with Zayn for he was one of his chilliest mates.

“You’re a dick,” Louis laughed, punching him on the shoulder, and Zayn grinned wildly in a way that only friends would smile after being called such an obscenity.

The day passed by rather uneventfully, and Louis was beginning to lose hope reacquainting with the mysterious scarf man. In his wait, he wrote down a short verse:

_tick, tick, tick_

_the sound of time trudges on to wandering ears_

_echoing like the last strings of a singing bell_

_empty and silent to all_

_but my beating heart_

_thump, thump, thump_

Louis’ heart then skipped a beat for when he heard the familiar _tingle_ of the door, in walked the curly-haired man. This time, he was dressed in a dark green coat and tan boots and was only ten minutes until closing.

“Hi, yes, may I help you?” Louis spouted rather giddily before recognizing his hastiness and turning a deep shade red.

The young man made a large _sniff_ from his red, frostbitten nose and replied, “Hello, I would like a small caramel latte and to make an inquiry about the whereabouts of a green scarf I might have misplaced here.”

At that moment, Zayn’s beautiful eyebrows rose magnificently, and he said to Louis, “You mind locking up the shop again? I’m headed out now – mum’s making a nice roast tonight.”

“Eh? Yeah, yeah, go on right ahead.” Louis dismissed him with a flippant wave of his hand and continued his solemn upholding to Corrine’s Café’s policy. “Of course I can get you that, and I can check in the back for any misplaced articles.” At this, he hastily shoved the scarf into his apron pocket. “Also, we’re having a special today – anyone who orders a caramel latte gets a complimentary pastry of their choice!”

Zayn was within enough distance for Louis to hear a large snort coming from him, before he swept up behind him and whispered, “I’ll give you that, he’s handsome as shit,” and crept silently out of the café. Louis’ cheeks burned even brighter.

“What, really?” The young man’s eyes sparkled with joy and his lips opened up in a smile. He wandered over to the pastry cases and picked out a chocolate chip muffin, then paid for his small meal. He sat down at the same table as before, and Louis tried his hand again at making latte art, which turned out slightly less lumpy than before.

He walked around to his table and gave a slight bow before presenting the neat cup and saucer display, and the customer gave him a curt nod and said, “Thanks very much.” Louis grinned at him earnestly, but then he commented, “Er, about my scarf…”

“Oh! Oh, yes! I shall definitely go check. I will be over there. Checking. For your scarf.” Louis scuttled to the back room and took one last creepy sniff of the scarf before exclaiming, “Aha!” and rushing back to the front room. “Placed on a counter back there, hoping for someone to come and claim it.” He set it gently on the table. The young man broke into joy and he expressed his deepest gratitude toward Louis.

That’s when they simultaneously noticed the awkward standing of Louis.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked, motioning to the chair opposite him.

“Ah, I would if I could, but I really should…” and Louis was cut off by Harry’s shaking head.

“Nonsense. Come, sit down, you must be tired from standing all day.

Well, it was true. Normally Louis found it a personal dignity of his to not sit and watch people consume his products, but since the young man had so nicely asked…

“Don’t mind if I do.” Louis took a well-deserved sit, and he fidgeted his hands around in his lap.

The young man extended an arm. “Harry’s my name,” he said. “Only fair for you to know mine since I know yours.”

Louis met his amiable stance. “Pleasure.” There was a slight moment of uncomfortable hesitation after he said this before Harry broke out into a huge grin.

“What do you call a grizzly bear with no teeth?”

Louis was taken aback by the bluntness of his question. He blinked once, twice, and a third time before saying, “Um, what?”

“A gummy bear.”

Silence. Harry had a dumpy froglike expression on his face as though he had just said a terrible pun which he found quite hilarious, which happened to be the case, and Louis found himself speechless once more.

Then he laughed. And laughed even more when he finally got it.

“You, my friend,” he said through a snort, “are shit at telling jokes.”

After the ice was broken, Louis found himself chatting with the young man like they were old mates. He was clever, interesting, and most of all, quirky. Handsome with a personality? That wasn’t fair, he couldn’t have it all.

“I work at a bakery down the road, actually,” the curly-haired man confessed. “Is it bad that I came here to check out the competition?”

“Look at you, scouting around and the lot. What, don’t tell me you work over at that old place near the cat shop!”

Harry chewed on his lower lip and looked inconspicuously outside the window.

“You can’t be serious!” Louis said with a laugh, accidentally slapping his hand on his knee. “That place is for my nan and smelly cat ladies!”

The young man let out a huge pout. “Iss not for old women,” he mumbled. “And even if it was, they are delightful people.”

“Right, right, I’m sure they are. What, do they share knitting patterns with you as well?”

Another inconspicuous look.

“No, no, I’m only joking!” Harry cried out, but his face seemed to tell a different story. He took a sip of his caramel latte and said, “This place _is_ quite good though, I’ll give you that. I really like the coffee here.” He held up the muffin with a slight raise of his pinkie. “Pastries aren’t too bad, either.”

“I’m glad my mediocrity could suffice your inner hipster,” Louis commented proudly.

Harry snorted into his latte which gave rise to a small amount of flying froth. “I’ve met you for only half an hour, and yet you somehow manage to be the sassiest person I have ever met.”

“And you, the quirkiest. Please, let me write a self-help article online on how to introduce yourself to others. ‘Step One: Start out with the corniest and absolute worst joke you can think of.’”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it!” Harry retorted. “After all, you stayed for a chat, haven’t you?”

Louis winked at him with a slight _click_ from his mouth. “Got me there, Curly.”

The two men shared a mutual, heartwarming smile before Harry sighed, “Well, I should probably be heading home soon. I’ve got to get some sleep before work tomorrow – early shift and all that. If I work late again then and go looking for a warm place, I will see you here, yes?”

Louis grinned. “Indubitably.”

“Then it’s settled. See you tomorrow, Louis.”

“You as well, Harry.”

When the faint tinkle of the bell resounded through the shop, and the young man had made his way around the corner, Louis let out a sigh of relief at how their exchange went. His heart was beating fast, and he scoffed at his utter lack of subtly casualty he had for a man like that. He was Louis Tomlinson, for God’s sake, not some quivering puddle waiting for approval from a seemingly younger man than him. And yet, he could not contain his feelings.

He rushed to the counter to pull out a napkin and scuttle around for a pen that had ink and wrote down some quick profound words.

_Lovelier than life_

_Sweet as the blossoms in spring_

_Oh shit, I’m in love_

\--

The next week could be described as one of the best in Louis Tomlinson’s 20 year old life. Mr. Harry Styles, as Louis liked to call him, visited every evening that week and stayed way past closing time with his fanciful chats of cats, coffee, and terrible puns. He was fascinating, the way his eyes glimmered when talking about the things he was passionate for and the terrible method he had for telling stories. He still wasn’t sure what the Horse Riding Incident was about, even though he had heard the story three times now. But he knew every detail about Dusty, his cat, down to the last piece of fur on his little body, and could write a biography on his sister Gemma, and knew every embarrassing story since Harry was nine.

“I love bananas, maybe a bit unhealthily. But hey, I’m high in potassium, so that’s all that matters, yeah?”

“You keep telling yourself that, Harry.”

“Oh, and little children. Cutest things I’ve seen in this day and age. They say the most brilliant things. God, I really want children when I grow older.”

“You’d be a good dad, I can see it. How many little snots do you want?”

“Two or three. Y’know, enough to love but enough I’d be able to care for.”

Louis smiled. “Funny. Me too.”

He was so wonderful and insightful about every little detail, it was impossible to tell that he could be a real person. And the way their conversations just flowed so simply, no thinking, just talking… It was so easy to just go on and on about anything with him. One thing lead to the next, and Louis had no idea that it could be possible to talk with someone for so long, especially someone he had just met.

Louis found his mind wandering to Harry at all times. Planning an outfit for the evening? Oh, Harry would like that, he said blue was a fantastic color on him. Hmm, Harry would really enjoy that eclectic book on strange animals and where to find them. And those orchids, well, they just screamed Harry! His whole life began to revolve around Harry and only Harry, and he couldn't stop the thought of him creeping into his subconscious. Even as he poured coffee, the swirls in the drink reminded him of his curly hair, the faintest whiff of vanilla or cinnamon sent him into a frenzy, and heaven forbid he pass by a banana.

That divine man was even sneaking into his dreams. After a couple sleepless nights spent staying up thinking endlessly about Harry and his wonderful quirks, Louis finally managed to doze off to bed without too much difficulty. Unfortunately for his sanity, the young man was present in the dream world as well.

Louis imagined he was in a spa resort of some sort, apparently hidden away in the mountains in a secluded area. Wrapped in a white, fluffy towel, he was bundled in a layer of warmth protecting him from the harsh, raging snow outside. He was ready to take a bath in a gigantic room covered head to toe in marble, with golden creamy colors flowing over every surface. The place basked in a warm glow by the flames lit atop caramel colored lamps, and various palms and leafy plants sat in every corner. The steamy room invited Louis to take a dip in the frothy bath, which stood as a centerpiece in front of a gigantic glass window showcasing the freezing weather.

Louis stepped into the welcoming water and disrobed; he felt his bones loosen and relax, and he let out an audible sigh of pleasure. The bath was filled to the brim with fluffy bubbles that nearly poured out the sides of its golden edges, and it was just large enough to accommodate another person beside Louis’ body.

So it did.

A huge brass door opened up to the room, and in walked a shirtless, glistening Harry with bulging muscles and a beautiful chest. Tattoos lined every inch of his body, and an overwhelming temptation to reach out and touch them washed over Louis. He was wearing nothing but a short towel around his waist, and he glided over to the bath. “May I join you?” he asked in a voice made of caramel and honey, and Louis just about melted in his hands. He made a meek effort to nod, and the gorgeous man placed a toe gingerly into the tepid water. In a quick motion, he threw away his towel so Louis could not sneak a peek and dunked into the bath, pushing a wave of bubbly froth overboard. He sidled up to Louis’ wet body and placed a tender hand on his thigh.

“This is lovely,” he whispered, his voice sounding heavenly and mysterious. Louis was sure this was what sailors heard before sirens whisked them away. Harry pulled out a bottle of shampoo and began to lather it lovingly into Louis’ hair. It felt so good to feel Harry’s fingers stroking his hair, and he closed his eyes to further enjoy the experience. The overwhelming smell of vanilla and cinnamon filled Louis’ body and lulled him into a trance. A burst of hot water flooded over his head as the shampoo was washed out, and Louis rubbed and slowly opened his eyes. Harry’s face was in front of his, and it was getting closer and closer.

“I missed a spot,” he sang, reaching a gentle hand through a lock of Louis’ hair. He then cupped his face ever so tenderly and began to pull it towards his. His breath was steamier than the room, and his lips were so, so beautiful.

Louis woke up with a jolt. He was drenched in a cold sweat, and a lower body part of his was giving him a standing ovation for his dream. He shuddered and laid back down, then proceeded to spend the rest of the night awake thinking about Harry.

One day, after ordering his usual caramel latte and meeting Louis at their usual table, Harry commented, “Why is it so easy to talk to you, Lou? I’ve known you hardly for a week or two, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”

“Honestly, I feel the same way,” Louis admitted. “It’s so strange.”

“I think I like it, though. Most people I know don’t like to stick around to hear what I have to say. They make their own impressions about me and refuse to believe anything else I might say. I-I know that sounds weird, but I swear it’s true. A lot of people only see me for my looks; they don’t give a damn about who I really am.”

“That you’re a wonderful person?” Louis asked. “You are, I know for sure. So full of wisdom and Harry-isms and life.” He got a sweet smile on his face and whispered, “Truly, Harry, thank you for wandering into my shop. It’s been really grand getting to know a person like you.”

Harry broke out into a massive grin and said, “And you, the same.” He chuckled slightly then murmured, “Y’know, Louis… I’ve got a Christmas party coming up and I’d love it if you would join me.”

Louis’ eyes glistened. “Yeah?”

Harry nodded with an acute smile. “Yeah. On the 24th.” As Louis was about to protest with a slight raised finger and open mouth, Harry quickly explained, “I know that’s your birthday, but I figured if I had it in the evening, you could spend the day with your family.”

“Oh.” Louis laughed hollowly. “It’s actually not that. My only day off this month is Christmas. I have to work Christmas Eve as well.”

The curly-haired man nearly dropped his mug. “You’re joking,” he said, wide-eyed and flabbergasted. “They can’t possibly be making you work up to Christmas day, and especially not on your birthday.”

Louis shrugged and gently tipped his chair back on its stubby legs. “What can you do when you’ve got a family to provide for? I’ll have other birthdays. And other Christmas Eves.”

“But no other chance at my Christmas party,” Harry pouted.

“Got me there, Curly.”

That was when someone came angrily storming out of the back room of the coffee shop. “For God’s sake, Louis,” Zayn grunted, “I’ll take your shift for that evening. Go, be happy. You deserve it. You’ve worked your arse off this year.”

“Oh.” Louis was speechless. “Thanks, mate.” As Zayn retreated back to his beginning location, Louis whispered to Harry, “Holy hell, I forgot the man was still here.” He cleared his throat. “It’s settled, then! I shall join you at your Christmas party!”

Harry beamed with a huge lop-sided grin. “Seven, my place? I’ll jot down an address, here, give me something to write on…” And as the young man put down words with curvy, fluid motions, Louis felt his heart getting warm, and a feeling of warm comfort rose within. It was inviting, cozy, and open to hugs and kisses. Like a drink of hot coffee, flowing to every part of the body and heating up the soul.

It felt like home.

\-- 

When Louis showed up to the door of Harry’s flat the day of his birthday, he fully expected to be chastised for his lateness. His mother had kept him over, insisting he blow out the candles and eat the cake and open his presents and call his older relatives and all sorts of nonsense when Louis had finally burst out, “Mum, I have a party to go to!”

“A date?” Lottie had squealed. Her bright eyes shimmered, and his mum got a smirk on her face.

“No! No, no, not a date. I’m late, I’m late, though! Thanks for the birthday wishes, love you lots, I’ve got to leave!”

His mother barely had time to yell, “Put a scarf on, love, it’s cold outside!” before Louis rushed out the door, pulling a blue beanie over his head.

 So when the flat opened up to a loud, “Louis!” and a massive embrace filled with cinnamon smelling curls, Louis was more than bewildered.

“What, you’re not mad I was tardy?”

“Honestly, I’m just glad you’re here now,” Harry said beaming. “Now the party can really start.”

His flat was quaint, filled to the brim with all sorts of holiday decorations, such as holly lining the walls and some pictures of Santa Claus lying about with a huge tree off in the corner. There were candles lit all around, basking the place in a dim, warm glow and filling the rooms with complimenting scents of vanilla and cinnamon. The Michael Bublé Christmas album was playing in the background, currently on “Santa Baby,” adding a nice touch to the holiday atmosphere. But most of all, Harry’s flat was… empty.

“Harold, there’s no one here,” Louis murmured, looking out at the vast isolation of the flat.

“I know,” was Harry’s response. “That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

_He did this for me?_

Before Louis could protest, Harry grabbed him by the arm, whisking him away and saying, “Come on Louis, let’s have a dance. This is a great song.” He was pulled rather forcefully into the young man, and they collided in a nice _thump_. Louis didn’t even get a chance to say, “I didn’t realize you had two left feet,” since Harry had already nestled in a hand on the small of Louis’ back. He grabbed his hand and held it aloft at eye level, and slowly and gracefully they began to dance.

Louis considered himself the leader in most occasions, but Harry’s dance moves were sublime albeit the small moving space. Harry moved one foot, and Louis moved his in fluid response, paying close attention to the motions of the curly-haired man. Harry’s arms were soft, yet powerful, leading Louis elegantly to the beat of the music. Soon the couple had mastered the art of sway, and Louis was feeling more confident in his dancing skills. He lifted up his raised hand higher, and with a grin and bubbly giggle, he enthusiastically invited Harry to dive in under his arched arm. He matched his contagious smile and graciously dipped underneath Louis’ outstretched arm, and they met each other in a dorky entanglement of limbs. They scrambled for a way to untie themselves, and when they did, Louis found his stomach pressed into Harry’s back, and his arm held gently around his waist. His curls tickled his nose, but he brushed them out of the way and stood on tip-toe to rest his head upon Harry’s broad shoulder.

“Well, this is nice,” Louis commented casually into Harry’s ear.

“Yeah, it is.” God, he smelled so fantastic. “I always picture dancing with someone to be as graceful as a ballroom pair, but somehow this is even better.” The song had shuffled to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” and Harry’s body relaxed into Louis’. “I love this song,” he sighed blissfully. “So beautiful and romantic. A beautiful song to dance to slowly.”

“Then why don’t we?” Louis asked, feeling cheeky and bold. He twisted Harry around to meet his eyes, and he held him closer than they ever had before. They pushed their chests together, and Louis inched his face closer. Their noses were so close to touching, and he could feel Harry’s gentle breath every time he exhaled. It was so close, so intimate, and Louis’ heart was beating so fast. Harry’s body was so warm, just emanating heat, his cheeks starting to flush red from the sheer joy and love flowing from the atmosphere. Louis wasn’t the only one anticipating something grand for Harry’s heart was pounding upon his breast.

“Louis?” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes, Harry?” He had closed his eyes and rested his forehead upon Harry’s cheek.

“Look up.” Glancing towards the ceiling, Louis let out a faint gasp.

“I’m not a big believer in old traditions,” Harry admitted sheepishly, “but, sometimes I can make a few exceptions.”

Louis gazed deep into his eyes, his heart intoxicated with the warm, holiday spirit and the genuine care he held for the young man in front of him, and realized immediately that any action held further between the two would have to be carried out by him. His eyelids drifted shut, his head nudged forward, and his lips puckered out ever so softly.

It was tender and delicate, like a cold winter’s day spent in front of the fireplace wrapped in a fresh, clean blanket, with a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and a loved one’s waist in the other. But it was also packed with passion, a fiery tango laden with desire and affection. They stopped time together, and for a moment, they reached an ethereal communion of love long overdue.

When they pulled back, Harry let out an incredulous sigh and smiled. “Can we do it again?” he asked innocently.

Louis did not hesitate. Their lips met once more, having enjoyed the taste test earlier but hungry for more, and did not separate for another lifetime before plunging in once again for another, and again when that one did not satisfy either. He had grabbed Harry’s back and was beginning to dip him down slowly, his hands starting to droop down in his fervent quest to meet his lips. The closer they got, the more he lusted, and his thirst could not be quenched by mere pecks here and there. He licked Harry’s red lips tentatively to see a reaction, and when a moan elicited out of him, his tongue weaseled in, desperate to find out more.

Sugar cookies baked only hours ago. Candy canes unwrapped in holiday cheer. A hint of caramel latte from the night before.

Delicious and desiring, Louis was drunk in love with the splendor of reciprocated affections, drowning in the pleasure they both were creating. When finally they could kiss no longer for lack of breath, he squeezed the young man tight and refused to let go. Their hearts beat fast in sync and held no evidence of letting up soon. They could not speak, but they merely held each other in tight, mutual love.

“Will you come with me?” Harry finally said after oxygen had once more taken reign in his body. Holding Louis by the hand, he led him into a small, tidy bedroom lit only by a dim lamp in the corner. Louis did not realize how quickly their relationship was going, but sat down upon the bed in pleasant surprise before embarrassingly realizing that was not Harry’s intentions. Instead, he opened up a drawer by his bedside and whispered, “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” After doing such, Louis opened his eyes, and was shocked at what he saw.

A napkin, with a little poem written upon it, starting with the words, “Endless faces filtering in and out.”

“I accidentally took my mess with me after visiting your café for the first time,” Harry confessed, “but it turned out to be the best mistake of my life. You wrote this, did you not?”

Louis was so astonished he could not speak for a few moments. “This… this is my handwriting,” he eventually got out. “You kept my poem. You read my poetry.”

“It’s lovely,” Harry smiled. “A little depressing, but I figured that was just a staple of the shop. Some angsty, hipster poetry alongside your coffee. I left my scarf behind so I would remember to come back again to see if that was a regular thing. You were there again the next day, and this came with my latte.” Harry handed him another napkin, this one starting with “tick, tick, tick.” He laughed. “That’s when I figured you were hitting on me.”

Louis was dumbfounded. “No one was supposed to see that!” he said breathlessly. “Are you absolutely certain that you enjoyed reading this crap?”

He laughed again. “Oh, I promise you, it’s quite wonderful. But, Louis, I do have a request.” He gave him this time a pad of paper and a magnificent ballpoint pen. “Will you write me another poem?” he whispered. “With a happy ending, preferably.”

Louis held the paper and pen in hesitant hands, but Harry’s puppy-dog eyes watched him eagerly. “I don’t really do this on the spot,” he told Harry and then grinned and said, “but, sometimes I can make a few exceptions.”

And Louis wrote:

_On the bustling streets of London in a tiny café for coffee_

_with the wind whistling loud and the people preaching louder_

_you can find a cup of coffee filled to the brim with bitter, black liquid,_

_tasteless to anyone who orders it._

_But to those who add just a dash of sweet caramel_

_and a hint of pure, white milk,_

_you will find a special cup_

_made only of true love._


End file.
